So like I was telling you last time, I was up at Langley Air Force Base last week (base motto: our Joint Strike Fighters are awesome and are so expensive they must run on pure gottdamm panda blood). I was doing what I do best, writing some seriously heavy stuff. Since the Air Land Sea Application Center is supposed to produce publications that the warfighter can actually use to fight wars (or as toilet paper in a pinch), there was some serious discussion about vignettes.
Vignettes are these awesomesauce little stories in manuals that are suppose to make the material both relevant to the reader and engaging while emphasizing the doctrinal message in the body of the publication. It’s basically a “no sh*t, there I was” story about whatever specific chapter of a manual you’re reading. Frankly, I think they add nothing to an ALSA pub, the place where the venerable and divine JFIRE manual comes from (which would be more divine if they would remove the section on Joint Air Attack Teams because that stuff gets planned at echelons so far above the warfighter’s reality that that particular reality has special parking at the commissary and lives in housing where one rarely finds weeds, rust, or cheap beer in cans).
“WHAAAAA?”
“This adds nothing to the chapter."
“It adds humor to the chapter."
“No, it adds herpes to the chapter."
“F*ck it. Delete it, dude."
And then we deleted it. Buh-bye, retarded little vignette. Your 15 minutes of fame are now done. Vignettes should add something to the discussion or make you feel like reading more (which is especially important when you need to trick people into reading a particularly boring manual like, say, JP 3-30, Command and Control for Joint Air Operations, or the Utility and Cargo manual for the Whackhawk pilots).
But for posterity, I have captured that little deleted nugget of joy here. You might enjoy it, I guess. Then again, I have yet to meet someone who would actually enjoy herpes, but there is always a first time for everything.
It was 0200 on a cloudy, moonless night. A few minutes earlier, a special tactics team (STT) had just departed the aircraft to conduct a high-altitude low-opening parachute technique (HALO) insertion onto the airfield. As the STT prepared the drop zone, the aircraft came around to conduct a low-level airborne insertion of our team. Recent intelligence revealed that the airfield runway had two major craters and was also covered by debris consisting of damaged vehicles and dirt mounds. The area was also considered an uncertain environment, although it was expected to be a relatively permissive entry for our forces since no significant activity had been seen in or around the airfield for the past 24 hours by surveillance platforms. Our team inserted and immediately conducted a sweep of the runway and surrounding areas to identify hazards, mark unexploded ordnance (UXO), confirm surveillance information, and establish security around the airfield. Airborne engineers began the task of clearing the runway and at first light airfield opening leadership arrived via helicopter after the airfield was secured. Within 12 hours, airfield opening forces began to open and establish the airfield. Over the next several days, additional forces continued to arrive, and the airfield was fully operational. Although some areas of improvement were identified, one of the major successes noted was the seamless transition of airfield responsibility from initial forces to airfield opening and follow-on forces. This success was mainly attributed to the detailed planning of all participants for several weeks prior to the event.
1LT, special tactics team (STT), USAF
Yeah, I know. It was written by a 1LT in a Special Tactics Team. This is like listening to a PFC straight out of AIT in his first Air Traffic Services Company tell his facility chief how to integrate the larger airspace construct for flight following procedure development. Someone is going to get his head bounced off a console station, and it's probably not the NCO. Given the amount of critical data that a senior airfield authority and airfield management team needs to accomplish their nearly no-fail mission when they transition a new airfield from the seizure bubbas to the follow-on force, we couldn’t figure out what the benefit of that vignette was. And we were a pretty savy group too. The vignette pretty much said everything that everyone already knows: gee, opening and running an airfield is hard and dangerous and (when worded properly) a little sexier than everyone else’s job. Well, no sh*t, Sherlock! Why do you think they wrote a manual about it?
Mainly, I think we just resented that the vignette from a 1LT. After all, 1LT is 2LT… with intent.
So, after a couple several many too many beers, this is what we writers came up with as a translation for the vignette of awesomesauceness:
It was a dark and stormy night. We showed up to the airfield. Nothing happened. We found some craters. We didn’t fill them. We found some explosive sh*t. We left that for the explosive ordinance dudes to deal with. No one shot at us. We landed a couple helicopters. We didn’t f*ck that up too egregiously. Once we’d stood around long enough, and looked requisitely sexy enough for some photographers from the New York Times, we left the airfield to the real controllers.
1LT (who was only allowed to speak when a Tech or Master Sergeant was present), special tactics team (STT), USAF
Moral of the story: don’t add vignettes to manuals. Doctrine writers will get drunk and laugh at delete them later.